The Cold Hard Facts
by Raine Cooper
Summary: When Irene Adler enters Sherlock's life again, everything begins to change. And, how does Moriarty know Irene as well? Irene/Sherlock/Jim. Sherlock&Jim belong to BBC, while Irene really belong to Sir Doyle.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I know how I said I would be writing for The Big Bang Theory again, but I started watching Sherlock and that idea went right out the window. This show has quickly become my new obsession and I have been thinking about this story since Sunday. I cannot wait for more episodes. Arugh.**

**So, I'm hoping this story will be a "love" triangle between Irene, Holmes and Moriarty. I have yet to decide who it should be centered on, Irene and Jim or Sherlock and Irene. I'll see how it plays out. And yes, you will know a little more to Irene's back story as well. If I get enough reviews, I'll update sooner! **

**Also, I'm ignoring the very final bit of "The Great Game." Just pretend that Jim didn't come back after Sherlock got the bomb off John. Makes life easier.**

**Cheers!**

**Kate.**

**The Cold Hard Facts**

It started when the phone rang.

Not many people actually _call _Sherlock Holmes. People who actually like him text, while people who don't like him avoid him all together. The only person who calls him would be Mycroft, but that's only because Mycroft hates the idea of texting. Not when he can hear the sound of his own voice.

Sherlock checked the caller ID on his blackberry to find the number blocked. Sighing, he pressed the small green button and held the phone to his ear. He expected Mycroft's mocking voice to ring back in his ear.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Hello Sherlock."

Except, that wasn't Mycroft's voice. Unless Mycroft's voice had raised a few octaves. No, Sherlock Holmes recognized the sultry voice that echoed into his ear. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a while, but he recognized it all the same.

His heart stopped and he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

"Irene Adler. It's been too long." He breathes into the phone, falling down into the couch. He hears her chuckle.

"Quite."

"To what do I owe this fantastic honor?" The sarcasm slips through his voice, his posture slowly returning to normal.

"I'm back in town. Just got in. I was hoping to see you soon." She pauses. "And maybe this new roommate I've heard so much about?" Her American accent filters through his ears and his eyes narrow.

"John's out." He suddenly has a fleeting moment of hesitation, wondering if he really should slip back into relations with Irene. Finally, he sighs and nods into the phone. "I'll meet you at the Ivy at 8. I'll make a reservation."

"It's a date then."

"Don't get too excited." He hisses, suddenly hanging up the phone.

Not before her laugh seeps out of the phone again.

He growls, throwing the phone across the room as John Watson enters the living room, slipping off his coat.

"Mycroft?" John asks quietly, moving towards the fridge. Sherlock doesn't move.

"Not this time, John."

He stands suddenly, moving towards his bedroom in a hurry. His voice filters back into the kitchen.

"I presume you're going out with Sarah tonight?"

"Yeah, dinner."

Sherlock flusters back into the kitchen, gulping down the rest of his coffee and shrugging on his blazer. He slips his phone into his breast pocket and reaches for his coat. John raises an eyebrow.

"Where are you off to?"

Sherlock stops putting on his scarf to glance in John's direction. "I have… uh… a date." He says simply, slipping out the door before John has a chance to say anything else.

Irene sighs, taking a slight slip of her red wine, and fixes her dress. Her dark brown hair falls in a cascade down her back and she runs a hand loosely through it, ignoring the stares she gets from the men around her. She takes a larger sip of wine as she checks the time on her phone.

8:01. Late.

She smiles into the glass, but it vanishes as soon as she sees him slip through the front door, shrugging off his coat. She doesn't stand as he sits across from her. He straightens his blazer and calls over a waiter. He doesn't acknowledge her until after he's ordered a glass of wine for himself. Finally, he looks hard into her dark eyes and he clicks his tongue. She smiles.

"Hello."

"Hi."

She shifts her weight so her elbow rests on the table, her chin in her hand.

"You look nice." She grins, and he simply glares at her, slamming down his glass.

"What do you want?" He growls, keeping his voice low in the busy restaurant. She raises an eyebrow and throws her hands lightly in the air.

"To catch up. Really, Sherlock, you need to lighten up." She reaches across the table and runs her thumb across his hand. Her sly smile returns as he lets out a huff, slipping his hand onto his lap. "Are you eating?"

"No."

"Oh, a case? Do tell."

He glares at her, sipping on his wine.

"No."

She pouts her lips and he straightens in his seat.

"Are we down here?" He growls, shoving his wine glass in her direction.

"You tell me." She breathes, leaning a little closer. Her perfume seeps into his senses, and he stands.

"Goodbye, Irene. Enjoy your time in London, which I'm guessing won't be long judging by the engagement ring on your finger. How come I haven't received an invitation?" He huffs, slipping on his coat again. She glances down at the ring.

"I haven't bothered taking it off yet, really. It keeps away the bad men." She mocks, toying with the ring with her fingers.

"Poor man. Hasn't even realized that his mothers old pearls have been nicked from right underneath him."

"Quite literally." She winks, her hand moving to the necklace. "It's worth two million pounds."

"This is the last conversation we're having, Irene. I would be out of a job if Lestrade knew I was here."

"Money, money, money." She waves a hand. Sherlock growls, taking a twenty-pound note out of his pocket and slamming it down on the table.

"Thanks for the wine, Sherlock."

She watches him leave the restaurant and calling a cab outside. She takes another long sip of wine, his wine, leaving a red lipstick mark on the rim. She slips the ring off her finger, dropping it into the wine glass with a plop. She stands slowly, leaving the note on the table and hailing a taxi, leaving in the opposite direction.

Taking a sip of his martini, Jim Moriarty watches her leave. The blonde who's been chatting at him across the table drones on as Irene vanishes from sight. He forces himself to look back at his date, not bothering to smile when needed. He feels a smile tug at his lips.

She's back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all who reviewed!**

**I should mention who Irene Adler actually is. She is a character created by Sir Doyle himself in the story A Scandal in Bohemia. She is also in the new 2009 movie portrayed by Rachel McAdams. Though, I imagine my Irene to be younger, just by a tad. **

**Next chapter I'll explain her back story. And maybe get Moriarty in there ;) I love him in this series, despite everyone else who doesn't like him. **

**Enjoy and review!**

Sherlock stood at the edge of the pool, arms folded over his chest. He stared at the glistening water, frowning at his reflection. The placed had been searched and searched again, for fingerprints, for footprints, for _anything_.

Nothing.

Sometimes, Sherlock wonders if it was all a dream, a figment of his small imagination resulting from lack of sleep. His brilliant mind gets the better of him though, telling him to not be so silly. Of course it happened, Moriarty is out there and threatening at every turn. Sherlock sighs impatiently using his thumb and index finger to press the bridge of his nose. His eyes shut close, and he breathes in the scent of chlorine.

It was odd not having John's small voice float into his mind when he was thinking like this. He had decided to skip out for today, as Sarah was bringing him to Bath to meet her parents. Sherlock figured he might even figure out things faster without him.

Wrong.

Grumbling, he stuffs his slender hands into his jacket pocket and swiftly walks out the door.

Irene smiles as Mrs. Hudson lets her into the apartment. Her plumber disguise worked perfectly, toolbox in hand.

She sets it on the cluttered table and zips off the suit. Her ensemble slips her into the blackness of the night, and she works quickly. She shuffles through the papers, picking up certain folders and quickly skimming them.

Her eyes dance over the only common word in the mess.

**Moriarty. **

She silently curses, her mind racing. If Moriarty had his eyes on Sherlock, it would only be a matter of time until one of them ended up dead. She felt her pulse raise as she thought of both of them, lying dead on the floor across from each other. She swallows.

She hears the door open, and light floods her face. She freezes, slowly inching her head away from the papers and into Sherlock's dark eyes. They're alive, fire leaking out of the blue. She bites her lip, a smile creeping across her face.

"Hello Sher-" She's cut off by a growl, and she ducks the hand that reaches out for her. She turns her hand to hit his face, but it's caught by his own hand. She kicks his shin, grabbing the folder, and heading for the door. Her waist is caught, she's spun, and then pressed against the wall. He grabs her hands and pulls them over her head. She hisses, breathing hard against his lips.

They stare at each other for a few breathless moments before Irene quickly leans forward and captures his mouth with hers. They attack each other, hands exploring like a memory. It continues like this for a few minutes before she breathes.

"Bed."

He growls, nodding.

"My thoughts exactly."

They stumble towards his bedroom, and she closes the door with her foot.

John yawns, rubbing at his eyes. He takes a quick look around the apartment, dropping his duffle bag on the dusty floor. He realizes Sherlock's not in, so he walks to the fridge to check for food. A note sits on the table.

_ John,_

_Lestrade called. I shouldn't be long, so I didn't bother texting you. _

_SH._

_P.S. Try to keep your incredibly annoying comments to yourself. I doubt Irene would appreciate the shocked expression your face will no doubt express. _

John frowned, looking at the note again.

"Irene?" He whispered, confused. He heard Sherlock's door open, and soon came face to face with a blue robe clad woman he had never met. She still looked half asleep, and she cracked her neck. Her eyes seem confused for a moment, before they light up with realization.

"John Watson, I presume. Sherlock didn't tell me you would be back so early. Where's he gone, anyhow?"

John stammers.

"You're wearing Sherlock's robe." He states, glancing at her exposed legs. She rolls her eyes.

"Great observation." She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits at the table, sipping quietly. John just stares. Finally, she realizes her mistake. "Oh! Where are my manners today? Irene Adler." She holds out her hand, and John just stares.

"Have you been here all night?"

"Uh, yeah."

John falls onto the chair, his mouth open. Irene grins, expecting him to say almost anything.

"Sherlock's not…gay?"

She wasn't expecting that.

Coffee splurts out of her mouth as she laughs loudly.

"I assure you, John, he is definitely not gay." She grins, winking, and John makes some sort of strangled noise. Her laugh echoes through the room, and the only thing that is racing through John's mind is who the hell is this girl?

And how did she break down Sherlock Holmes' walls so easily?


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks AGAIN to everyone who's reviewing! I really appreciate it, and KEEP IT COMING! :) I really didn't think I would get this much of a response as I have, so thanks. This chapter we get Irene's back story in regards to Sherlock.**

**Can I just say that I think Mark Gatiss' Mycroft is BRILLANT? I love the scene between him and John in "A Study In Pink." **

**Enjoy! And review!**

**Kat. **

There's a knock at the door, and by this time, Irene and John have situated themselves in the mess of the living room. Irene's knees are tucked beside her on the armchair while John was sitting, quite stiffly, on the couch. He's thankful for the interruption, because, quite frankly, the polite banter between them had become quite awkward. John opens the door swiftly, and comes face to face with Mycroft.

"John! Hello. May I come in?" Mycroft smiles, and John decides that it doesn't really suit him.

"He's not in." John states lamely, still blocking the door. Mycroft gives him a hard look, and another smile. John sighs and moves, finally letting Irene come into view. Irene has her hand around another cup of coffee (her third) and she keeps her eyes in the mug. Mycroft's eyes widen.

"I-Irene?" He croaks, his shoulders dropping just a tad, and she looks up from her mug, managing as smile.

"Mycroft. Hello."

John looks between the two and holds up a hand.

"Wait. No, wait. You two know each other?"

Irene laughs. "John. You can't meet one Holmes brother without meeting the other." She states, taking another sip of her coffee, and Mycroft clears his throat, lightly blushing.

"I had heard a rumor that you were back in town, but I didn't _actually_ think…"

"Who's your source?" Irene asks, rolling her eyes.

"Me." Comes a smooth voice from the door, and all eyes are Sherlock, who seems to be quite miffed that Irene's actually wearing _his_ robe.

"What did I tell you about my things, Irene?" He growls, throwing his scarf on the couch, and she just snorts, waving a hand. She stands.

"I would love to stay and chat boys, but a shower calls." She moves toward Sherlock and places her hands on his chest. "You can join me." She purrs, but Sherlock rolls his eyes, spinning her around and pushing her towards the bathroom.

"Maybe next time." He smiles and she grins back.

John practically gags, making a choking noise. Mycroft sends him an understanding look, before looking back at her disappearing legs. There's a pause in the air before John turns quickly to Sherlock.

"Would you care to explain?" His voice is incredulous and bewildered, and Mycroft sighs, plopping himself on the armchair. Sherlock stays calm.

"Explain what?" he asks, shuffling through papers and licking his fingers to turn the page of a folder. John makes another choking noise as he searches for the right words.

"Irene!" He stammers, pointing to the bathroom door where the faint sound of water can be heard.

"It's just a woman, John. Calm down."

"Just a woman?" he croaks, his voice on the verge of a yell. "Just a wo-Sherlock! This is a woman who stayed the night. With _you._"

Sherlock looks up from his papers, frowning. He turns to Mycroft. "Should I be insulted?"

"Yes." Mycroft nods, twirling his umbrella in his hands.

"Explain. Now." John states, sitting on the couch. Sherlock sighs, but nods slowly.

"Her name is Irene Adler. I haven't seen her in four years. We met during a case that I was on. She was planning on blackmailing one of her old love affairs, and the poor man came to me for help. I almost had her…but she got away." Mycroft tuts and Sherlock glares. "She became my obsession, and I spent a good three months finding her again. Just before I go out to catch her, she shows up at my door, unannounced." His face is placed into a look that's a mix of a smile and a grimace. "She…seduced me… for lack of a better word. It wasn't very hard for her to do, considering I found her fascinating. She's brilliant and fast and…flexible." This time, it's definitely a grin on his face. John almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. "We saw each other for maybe three weeks. It was incredibly dangerous, considering she's an on call thief and con artist."

"So you ended it." John states, almost proud of his small deduction.

"No…she left me. Disappeared completely. She only left me a note. I spent two more painful months searching for her, until one day I received a phone call from her saying she was in the states and doing fine. She wouldn't tell me why she left, only that she was sorry." He pauses, before clearing his throat. "I swore that day that I wouldn't let another woman come into my life and completely ruin me." He glances towards the door nervously. "But she's back. She's back and I honestly don't know what to do."

"You could keep your shields up. For god's sakes Sherlock, didn't mother teach you _anything_?" Mycroft sniffs, an amused expression dancing in his eyes. Sherlock snorts.

"Oh please. I saw your infatuated stare. You're no better then me."

Mycroft blushes again.

Irene finally emerges, her hair lightly damp and wearing the black ensemble she was wearing yesterday. She zips up her jacket.

"I'm really sorry, but I have somewhere I have to be." She leans up and kisses Sherlock on the cheek. "I've left my new cell number on the counter, text me."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asks, narrowing his eyes slightly. She smiles again.

"Secrets, darling, are never meant to be told." She nods to Mycroft and John, and shuts the door behind her.

There's a pause, then.

"That bloody woman stole my folder!"

Irene pays the cab driver and moves quickly into the hotel to avoid the rain. She takes the slow elevator ride to the tenth floor and unlocks her hotel room with the key. She zips her jacket off, throwing in on the floor, and shakes out her hair. She sets the folder on the table, lightly smiling.

"You've been a very bad girl, Irene."

She turns quickly around, and out of the shadows emerges Jim Moriarty, winking.

"Now, let's see what we can do about that." He grins, and his venomous voice seeps into her blood, sending her heart into a frenzy. She feels poisoned, and her eyes close.

Her blood burns for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**I know some people really want this to be a Sherlock/Irene pairing fic, but it's by far more of a triangle between Jim M/ Irene / Sherlock. **

**I like this chapter, because I really like Jim as a character. So, enjoy and review. **

**Kat.**

Irene sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes narrowing. Her posture straightened and she swallowed.

"Moriarty." She hisses, trying to keep her stance. Her body screams at her to crumple to the floor. He smirks as if he knows how she's feeling, and she growls. He slips his hands into his trouser pockets and pouts.

"What, no big surprise? No big cheer? Shame." He laughs, mocking her. He walks around her, stalking her like a lion.

"Sorry I don't bring out the welcome wagon." She folds her hands over her chest, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"Miss me?"

"No."

He laughs again, and she realizes that he's much closer then he was before. She can feel his soft voice in her ear, and she shivers.

"See, Irene, I don't think that's quite the truth." He moves the sleeve of her shirt down a tad, leaving her light shoulder bare. His fingers trace her collarbone and she has to clench her teeth to stop from shivering again. "I think," he smiles, bringing his lips just below her ear, kissing lightly, "you missed me."

"Don't touch me, Moriarty." She breathes, but doesn't move. He grins against her neck.

"So formal." He nips at her shoulder, and she moans, leaning into him. He turns her around and quickly presses his lips against hers, framing her face.

This kiss is so different from Sherlock's. Sherlock's is heat and fire and anger. With Sherlock, it's always been just _sex_.

With Jim, everything's different. He kisses her with soft passion, slow and steady. It's like poison, slowly seeping into her, boiling her blood. His touch is cold and light, the snake ready to pounce.

He pulls away, his peppermint breath on her nose.

"Jim." She whispers, finally giving up defeat. His vicious grin is victorious, and his mouth finds hers again.

"Much better." He mumbles, and she pushes him down on the bed. It's like she's watching herself from above, and her mind screams at her to stop, just stop.

But she can't. The feel of his touch is addictive and her body drinks in the light curves of his body.

She feels herself on the edge of something. She's on the edge of a cliff, knowing that if she falls, she'll never be able to pull herself out again.

She closes her eyes, letting herself tumble into the jaws of Jim Moriarty.

When she awakes the next morning, she's alone. She stretches in the large bed, pulling the duvet closer. The sound of the sharp rain pangs against the window, creating a light comfort to the emptiness she feels. A note lies on the pillow beside her.

_I think I've proved my point. _

_Talk to Holmes again, and there will be consequences._

_Oh, and thanks for the folder. _

_JM._

She groans, her eyes dancing over to the empty table. Memories of the previous day rush back, and she has to close her eyes to prevent fainting. Everything spins and twirls and she feels as if she could vomit.

She checks her phone, looking at the missed messages.

_**1 New Message **_

_**Sherlock Holmes**_

_**Need to ask you something. I'll be over at 10.**_

_**SH.**_

She quickly checks the clock on the bedside table and practically screams. 9:30.

She showers quickly, packs her light bag, and rushes out the door. She checks out of her room and checks into a new one three floors down. Once in, she throws her clothes haphazardly around the room, making it look like it was slept it.

Sherlock would be able to tell immediately she had slept with someone last night unless she took extra measures.

She showers again to be safe.

When he knocks on her door at ten sharp, she smiles warmly at him, letting him through.

"What did you need to ask me?" She causally asks, playing with her nails on the bed. He gives her a long, serious look.

"How do you know him?"

"I'm sorry?"

Sherlock growls in frustration. "Jim Moriarty! You know him, and I need to know how."

"I don't know who that is."

"Don't lie to me, Irene! The folder you took last night was all on him. You wouldn't have chosen that one if you didn't know him."

There's a long pause, and Irene stares harder at her nails.

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I just can't Sherlock!" She hisses, standing to her feet, throwing up her hands.

"Irene. He's a killer, and very dangerous. I'm only trying to protect you." He whispers, and Irene stares into his cold eyes. She shakes her head and stares out the rainy window.

"I don't need protecting. Not from you, not from anyone." She sucks in a breath. "I can't do this now, Sherlock. I need you to leave." She hears him reach out for her, but she inches away. "Now." She adds, staring at a rain drop racing down the window.

The door slams behind her.

She falls to the floor, slamming her head against the wall.

She wants so bad to run out into the hall and fall into his arms. She wants to tell him not to go, just to stay with her.

But she can't. She has to cut off all relations with Sherlock Holmes. To save him.

She realizes something then. Every single morning when she's with Sherlock, she wakes up alone.

But that was the first time Jim Moriarty had not been there in the morning. She has a small flashback, his beautiful eyes, his dashing smile, his light laughter.

Finally, the tears come, because she's never felt more lost and alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapters a bit rushed, but I wanted to get it out there as I'll be busy the next few days and a chapter won't be out until Thursday. If I can get it out earlier, I will. **

**Tell me if you like how Jim and Irene knew each other! He'll be in the next chapter. **

**Review!**

**Kat. **

Sherlock sighed, leaning back into the bench. When his mind raced, when it really pounded, he found that the city noise and buzz calmed him immensely. Closing his eyes, he slipped his hands into his coat pockets. He knew that something was wrong with Irene. He had to know how she knew Moriarty, and he needed to know it fast. His phone beeped, and he checked the message with another sigh.

**1 New Message.**

**Blocked Number**

**hello darling**

**pool side, midnight.**

**can't wait.**

**Jimmy**

Sherlock hissed and checked the time. Realizing it was two hours until midnight, he huffed and called Irene.

"Hello?"

"He texted me. You need to tell me as much information as you can before I go to see him. I could get under his skin."

"And what makes you think I'll let you go to this meeting?"

"I'd like to see you try. I'm on my way to your room."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

He sat on the end of her bed, his arms folded, waiting for an answer. She looks at him hard for a time, and he realizes she's been crying. He doesn't ask.

"It was five years ago." She begins, taking a long breath. "University. We lived across the hall from each other, and were in the same classes, as we were both taking criminology." She pauses, rubbing her eyes. "I needed money, we both did. I figured the best way get some was stealing things. I recruited him, and we spilt all the money that came in. He was so brilliant." She shakes her head, laughing without humor. "I fell for him. Hard. We got better, and things started to change…some people had to be sacrificed. Security guards, mostly." She closes her eyes to prevent herself from crying again. "But he became different. Addicted, I suppose. More people started dying, and I didn't like it. I had to leave." A single tear slips silently down her pale cheek and she wipes it away. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

"Why? This has nothing to do with me." His voice was strained from the new information.

"It has everything to do with you." She breathes, her eyes becoming cold. "I needed more money, of course, so I planned on blackmailing this guy who I dated a few weeks before, as Jim and I had planned on doing so."

"Wil." Sherlock whispers, and Irene nods.

"I didn't know he had people on me. He found me with you, and was outraged. That's why he has a personal vendetta against you."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Sherlock growls, getting to his feet. "And why has it taken five years for him to get to me?"

"Before he could find you before, I went into his office and erased all information he had on you and replaced it with false information. I made sure it would take him this long to find you, and even then I didn't think he would still be so obsessed with it."

Sherlock looks at her hard and long.

"I ran away to the states, making sure I was hidden."

"Why did you come back?"

'There was nothing for me there. Everything's here." She looks up at his cold eyes and sighs. "It's almost midnight. Can I convince you not to go? He's dangerous, Sherlock. Don't underestimate him."

"Hey, don't underestimate me." Sherlock forces a smile in her direction, which isn't returned. He turns to the door, opening it. He pauses.

"Did you love him?"

When he doesn't get an answer back, he shuts the door behind him, his mind whirling.


End file.
